


Vixen

by Ziel



Category: RWBY
Genre: Body Horror, Grimm - Freeform, Multi, OC, Transformation, Villain Protagonist, dust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7383982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziel/pseuds/Ziel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wynn Schnee is the youngest daughter of the Schnee family. Her aura is crippled, her body weak, unsuited to be a Huntress or Heiress. She lives for her experiments with Dust, ever seeking the mix that would restore her to normal and free her from her gilded cage. What she wishes for may not be exactly as she imagined...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vixen

**Author's Note:**

> Flesh is heretic,  
> my body is a witch  
> I am burning it

0

 

The lake behind the manor was vast, wide enough that the house was a dollhouse in the distance, barely visible between snowy gusts. Mountains rose high on either side of the lake, white peaks against a gray sky.

It was the first time she’d ever seen the far shore this close. It was still nearly as far away as the house was, but she could see the point where the lake met a thick wall of pine trees.

“-back!”

She skated away from the voice, pushing herself across the frozen surface of the lake with long, sliding steps. Her skates cut the thin drift of snow over the ice easily, and she picked up speed.

Going in circles by the house had gotten boring. Her sister never wanted to do anything interesting. She wanted to see the far shore, maybe explore the trees a bit. There might even be reindeer.

“Wynn!” The voice again, closer now.

“You can’t catch me!” she called over her shoulder.

Wynn pushed harder, her breath white smoke streaming out behind her. There was no cover out this far, and the gale was biting, the ice swept clean and polished smooth by the constant wind. She kept going though, the sound of her skates lost beneath the hollow roar of wind. She was grinning behind her scarf, and the rush of adrenaline made it easy to ignore the growing cold.

“Wynn, no!” Closer still, and- “Don’t!”

The urgency in her sister’s voice was real this time, and Wynn drew up short, kicking up arcs of powder as she stopped. She turned, putting her back to the wind. She wasn’t sure if it had started snowing again, or if it was just picking up snow from the ice, but Wynn had to squint, her eyelashes catching flakes, in order to see Weiss.

Her sister was fifty feet away. She was nearly invisible, but for the red scarf around her neck. There were spots of color in her cheeks, anger and exertion and cold.

“Come back, Wynn.” Weiss held out a hand, beckoning.

“Or what?” Wynn grinned wider. “Can’t you catch me?”

Weiss shook her head. “It’s dangerous. The ice-”

Wynn laughed at that. “’The ice,’” she said pompously, imitating Weiss’ voice. “What kind of Schnee is afraid of ice?”

“It’s-”

A loud crack cut off Weiss’ response. They both froze. Another crack snapped through the air.

“Wynn, come back!” Weiss shrieked.

Wynn stared at her. She’d never heard Weiss sound like that.

Another crack, and the ice shifted underfoot. Wynn looked down.

The layer of ice that covered the lake was not so thick here. She could see black water through the rime, and-

A crack split the view beneath her.

“Wynn!”

Weiss threw herself forward, skates tearing the surface.

Wynn moved. The ice was thin. She was on thin ice. Her skate had barely touched down when the ice beneath it splintered. A slab tilted beneath her foot, and she stumbled away, bird-stepping on her skates. Every step became more precarious as the cracks spiderwebbed under her weight. She wanted to throw the skates off and just run, but there was no time.

A crack- the sound like a gunshot across the lake, and she went ankle-deep into water. Wynn fell, her foot still in the hole, knees scraping against the ice, hands clawing for purchase.

Weiss was close enough now that Wynn could see the fear in her eyes, hands outstretched like she could reach across the gap between them. She was still so far away though.

Crack.

Ice broke under her legs and hips, and she was up to her waist in water.

It was agonizingly cold. Their heritage, their bloodline as Schnees gave some resistance to the wind and weather, but this was- she couldn’t breathe it was so cold.

Her legs kicked under the ice, but there was no surface under it, nothing to push off from. Her snowpants were already soaked through, weighing her down. The water bit into her thighs and buttocks, the muscles cramping as the cold jammed icy fingers into them.

Weiss was screaming something, but Wynn couldn’t hear her. There was nothing to push from- nothing to hold on to. Her fingers scrabbled, but there was no purchase; gloves sliding frictionlessly against the ice.

Crack.

The slab collapsed under her, and Wynn sank up to her armpits. She thought her heart would stop- it lurched, shriveling in the cold.

Far off in the distance, she glimpsed her father and Winter, no bigger than dolls against the dollhouse manor. They were running full-tilt towards her and Weiss, but she already knew they’d never make it in time.

Weiss was still ten feet away when Wynn found her voice.

“Weiss!”

The ice folded, and she plunged.

 

XXX

 

1

Eight years later.

 

The workshop was quiet. Her steps were muffled, soft slippers against thick rubber matting. The only sounds were the faint, insectile buzz of the overheads, and her own ragged breathing.

There was a sound system in the corner, but it was off now, left deliberately silent.

Wynn padded by it, supporting herself with a hand on the tabletops and machines that lined the walls. The room was crowded with all the equipment packed into it, but she wove through the narrow aisle without looking down.

The locker set into the back wall was narrow, its steel door unremarkable beside all the technology that ringed the workshop. She pressed the fingers on her right hand to a pad beside the door latch. The pad vibrated once, and then a metallic click heralded the door unlocking.

She tugged it open. The locker was packed to the brim with racks upon racks of Dust; a rainbow of little glass containers. Her hand glided over the rows, searching, glass chattering as her unsteady fingers nudged the racks.

Row H. Sample #145: Earth Dust, 8.7 grams. The crystal was jagged, amber colored, flecked with dark spots that she recognized as mineral impurities.

She moved on. Earth Dust took too long to dissolve, and she’d have to run it in the centrifuge to get the minerals out.

45, 60, and 139 were dismissed as well. Wynn was frowning at the lack of organization by the time she reached sample 200. She’d let the locker get out of order, and now she was basically just rifling through the racks until something caught her eye. It was slow, and she was tense with impatience before long, glancing over her shoulder every couple racks.

After careful consideration, she picked samples 251 and 279. The former was Fire, crystalized in an unusual spherical shape, like a cluster of red marbles inside the vial. The latter was Wind, a swirled stone the color of seafoam. The spiral was not as tight as she would have liked, but the Dust was pure.

Both were Grade S1. In terms of purity and quality, there was nothing better. Even raw and uncut, each was easily worth tens-of-thousands of lien.

These would be the first S-grade crystals she’d ever worked with.

The samples went into separate pockets on her apron, and Wynn shut the locker.

There was an industrial grinder just to the right of the locker; a little machine that looked a bit like a mixer. It could grind Dust crystals in a matter of moments. It was also loud, particularly in the confined space of the workshop, and would attract attention she didn’t need.

She bypassed it and returned to her worktable.

A stone dish awaited her.

251 went into the mortar first. It was tough, resistant enough that she sweated over it for nearly five minutes before finally just hitting it with a hammer. The Dust cracked to pieces, and she ground it up with the pestle. 251 came out as a fine powder the color of cinnamon, and Wynn tipped it into a new vial.

She had to rest before moving on. Grinding 251 had left her lightheaded. Wynn sat on her work-stool and tried to take deep, calming breaths until her heart-rate slowed down.

She rose from the table and replaced her pestle and mortar with a clean set. The contaminated items went into the tub sink, to be cleaned later. The effort, getting up and moving across the workshop again threatened further dizziness, and she had to rest again before doing 279.

Her worry returned as she slumped against the table. This was taking too long. She’d be interrupted before she finished.

She moved faster on the second crystal, and got lucky. 279 proved to be refreshingly easy to grind. The stone was porous, composed of wafer-thin layers, and released the sharp scent of wintergreen when she crushed it. The airy green powder went into another vial in the rack beside 251.

There were now six filled vials on the table.

Two held ground Dust.

The remaining four held her blood.

With the plasma removed, the liquid within was dark, nearly black, and glutinous. The lights over the table, high contrast, and hot enough to make sweat bead on her forehead, cast a murky red shadow beneath the little rack.

She chose the first vial, lifting carefully with both hands, fighting the urge to hurry.

A clamp held the vial in place on the table for her while she chose a syringe from a sterile tray of tools. The needle wavered between her fingers, the point jittering like an insect’s stinger, before she steadied her right hand with her left, and directed the needle to the vial.

The plastic cap on the ampoule was hospital standard, with a dimple in the center made specifically to be pierced through. Needle penetrated cap, and she pulled the plunger back, drawing thick blood into the syringe.

The syringe, now full with liquid weight, was capped and set aside on a tray. She pitched the used ampoule into a hazmat bin and selected 251. The Dust glimmered, facets catching the light as she moved the tube into place.

Wynn jabbed the syringe into 251’s tube and pushed the plunger down. Sticky blood sprayed into the Dust, clotting it at first, and then soaking in, grains floating in a rising tide.

She emptied the syringe, capped the vial, and hesitated.

Only one more step now. The most important one. Wynn frowned slightly. The next step was usually where things started exploding.

She wrapped her fingers around the vial, clasping it between her hands like a talisman.

The Dust needed to be dissolved, and then it needed to be attuned. Putting unattuned Dust into the body was like throwing gunpowder into a fire. The Dust was out of sync with the user’s aura, and they would war, vibrating against each other until the Dust inevitably ignited.

There were chemicals that could aid this step. Solvents could liquefy the Dust, and then be separated with the centrifuge. But that would be slow, and the centrifuge was just as loud as the grinder.

She focused on the vial, on the smooth glass pressing into her palms. It was easier to think about that, to center on it, than on herself. It was a goal, and possibly… a solution.

Her aura surrounded her at all times, a second skin. It took a conscious effort to move it, an atrophied limb stirring into motion, and-

She hissed as her aura pulsed down her arms. The first minute felt like sunburn on the inside of her skin; tender flesh and muscle crying out as her aura seared them. The tube flared with a flickering, misty light as she suffused it, holding on even as her limbs ached.

Aura met Dust. The blood began to churn as she enfolded the grains, not activating, but grinding them even more. She’d described it to her father as being like ‘stones in the ocean.’ Larger pieces were worn down and broken apart with constant motion. Her aura moved in steady, rhythmic waves grinding the grains of Dust together, using their own friction to wear them down.

It was a calming, soothing metaphor that didn’t really take in how much it hurt.

The second minute was worse. Her hands began seizing around the tube, muscles writhing under the skin as the pain escalated to a white-hot burn. The flow stuttered, thinning, and Wynn gritted her teeth.

“Not yet. Not yet.”

Her aura was dwindling, slowly and inevitably. Her body was shutting off the external aspect of her aura in the same automatic way it might shiver in the cold. It was the hard limit that prevented her from spending a lethal amount of lifeforce.

“Just-a-little-more.”

Each compression was like working handfuls of molten sand now, her aura screaming as she forced it to move. Necessity kept her going. This had to happen.

Slowly, the Dust began to dissolve, melting into the blood like sugar in water. She closed her fists around the vial and pushed. The psychic “channels” that her aura flowed through were pinholes now, and she whined with pain as she forced them past their capacity. The Dust was thrumming in her hands, a song just out of tune with her own.

It was reacting in a way she’d never seen before. Her aura was moving in ways outside her direction, caught in a flow she hadn’t made. Fighting it felt wrong, like walking against a river. Wynn let her aura move as it needed to, and found her eyes going wide as the Dust grains began to burst. They weren’t igniting- this was like seeds germinating; she was completing something in the Dust, and they were dissolving, merging seamlessly into her blood.

This had never happened before. Previous samples usually ended up gritty, full of grains that refused to dissolve. It was a-

“Miss Schnee?”

She jerked with surprise, nearly falling off her stool.

“Miss Schnee, are you in there?” Someone called from outside. Dimly, she thought it might be one of the maids. The knob turned, then caught. “It’s time to get ready, Miss.”

“I’m busy,” Wynn snapped, trying to keep her voice level around the furious heat in her hands. “Come back later.”

There were faint, scuffling footsteps as the woman fretted outside the door, and then-

“Your father was very insistent that you get ready.”

It was definitely one of the maids. Probably Sapphire.

“Go away!”

She paid for her distraction with a surge in her aura. A purple bruise bloomed on the back of her hand as the blood vessels ruptured under the aural pressure.

Wynn yelped, but kept going. The door was specially reinforced to protect her gear. The maid would need a key to get through.

“Are you okay?” Sapphire called, sounding worried. “Did you fall?”

Wynn ignored her.

The last grain melted away, and she let her aura go. The flow rebounded on her like a wild dog, and she had just enough time to drop the vial back into the rack before the spasm hit her. Her hands twitched and curled, her eyes rolling back, back arching, teeth bared in a rictus. She tipped backwards, and only one flailing, kicking leg under the table kept her from toppling over entirely.

From outside came the sound of heels on stone as Sapphire scurried away.

The seizure lasted an eternal minute, Wynn’s body drawn to the breaking point before finally collapsing against the table like a rag doll. It was dumb luck that she didn’t pitch face-first into the used syringe – it missed her by inches. Her breath fogged the plastic; short, jerking gasps that she had no control over.

Necessity moved her. She was still trembling and weak, her insides churning and burning with aura damage, but there was no time.

The solute was complete. It just needed to be moved now.

The rack nearly tipped as she grabbed at it. It took her another three tries to pick up the solute. The vial quivered in numb fingers, and Wynn had to drag it across the tabletop to keep from fumbling it.

Her weapon was across the workshop, sitting atop a stack of SDC catalogues. Getting up was an ordeal in itself. Her legs were pitifully weak, swaying under her like willow branches. She hobbled forward, supporting herself once more on the numerous surfaces around the edge of the atelier.

Prism Wreath was a thick bangle adorned with intricate silver leaves. A ring of sturdy tubules ringed the upper edge. They were empty now, but she wasted no time in opening the first chamber and emptying the Dust mixture inside.  
251 had created something perfect. The solute had become a uniform crimson color, closer to red wine than blood in both color and consistency. It glimmered, little facets of Dust catching light and refracting it.

She could feel its potential. The glass was actually humming in her hands, the Dust inside warm, and somehow… alive. It was vital. It was vital and it was perfect, and she knew that if she used it, her aura would-

There was noise from outside the door. Heavy steps followed by a patter of lighter feet. Her father and Sapphire.

“Wynn, open the door!” Her father yelled. And then there was a sound that made Wynn surge into action- a key scraping in the lock.

She opened Prism and snapped it on. The bangle whirred for a moment, and then irised inward to fit her wrist. The Dust canisters rotated around her arm, with the filled glass cycling into place against the top of her forearm.

The door swung open just as Prism readied itself. The injector brushed her skin, and she was raising her left hand to slap the activator when her father lunged at her.

“No!” he bellowed.

Wynn still went for it, but it was no contest. Her father was easily stronger than her, and caught her wrists within seconds, holding them apart.

“Take it off.”

“Father-”

“I won’t ask again,” he growled.

She had no other options. He’d take it off her if he had to, and who knew what would happen to her Dust then? Her legs could barely hold her anyway. Wynn slumped onto a stool, and, after a moment to examine her, her father let her arms go.

“Miss?” Sapphire was hovering in the doorway, one hand to her mouth. “Oh thank the gods, I thought you’d fallen.”

“So had I,” her father added, fixing her with a glare. “When I agreed to let you tinker before the party, I didn’t mean this. What were you thinking?”

“I had an idea, so I was testing it,” Wynn said shortly. She pressed her hands between her knees so her father couldn’t see how badly they were shaking. The heat in them was only now fading, leaving behind a dull throbbing like an irregular heartbeat.

“You mean you were testing an unknown blend of Dust by injecting it into your body.” He nodded toward Prism. “Off.”

She complied. Prism Wreath uncoiled from her arm, and she deposited it on the worktable. It was like stripping off a limb. Prism sat naked and empty on the table, a discarded husk.

Her father picked it up and examined it. One finger tapped the chamber holding the Dust, and he held it up to the light.

“Why?” he said.

“It was worth it.”

“These little experiments are not worth your health.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “What health do I have, Father? It was worth the risk.”

Her father went very still, towering over her. The hand holding Prism was white-knuckled around it.

“I hope it was, because it will be going to the labs for analysis tomorrow. Consider it confiscated.”

Wynn found herself as still as he was. “That’s the best blend I’ve ever made.”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Father-”

Her father spoke over her, grinding her words to nothing. “And it will be going to the labs so that you learn something about obeying when I tell you to do something.”

Her heart was jittering in her chest, something hot bleeding through her limbs. “That is the blend I need!”

His eyebrows twitched as her voice rose, but he didn’t back down. “Perhaps. And it will still be that blend when, and if you get it back from the labs. But for now… go up and get ready for the party before I send all of your samples to the labs.”

Sensing her cue, Sapphire appeared at Wynn’s elbow to help her up. To her disgust, Wynn found that the maid’s grip was most of what was keeping her stable, and they made a slow, ungainly process out of the workshop.

The basement outside her workspace was cavernous, all columns and long rows of wine racks. Their footsteps echoed and rebounded off the vaulted ceiling. Sapphire walked with her all the way to the elevator, moving with carefully measured steps so that Wynn didn’t stumble.

The blue-haired maid was one of her usual retainers, and Wynn usually didn’t mind her too much. Sapphire had the good sense to know when to stay away from her. But now… she was chattering nonstop as they walked, talking about how worried she’d been about Wynn, and how glad she was that Wynn hadn’t fallen.

The low, jagged heat in her chest that Wynn knew as anger flared a little higher.

Her father accompanied them, but split off before they made it to the elevator. He paused beside a wine rack, looking back at them.

“Do not cause me anymore trouble tonight.”

And then he was gone, tailcoat sweeping out behind him as he vanished up the stairs.

Sapphire sighed theatrically. “You’ll give him a heart attack at this rate.”

Wynn ignored her. She pulled away from Sapphire and moved toward the elevator. Sapphire rejoined her quick enough to hit the button, and had returned to her place at Wynn’s elbow by the time the doors opened.

They entered.

Ding.

The car moved smoothly upwards. Wynn had to tolerate not only Sapphire’s proximity now, but also her own reflection in the doors. Pale blue eyes stared back over hollow cheekbones. She looked like a walking cadaver.

“We’ll get you fixed up in no time,” Sapphire said, patting Wynn’s hand. “I hear the Mannheims are coming to the party tonight. It should be very nice.”

Wynn gave her a flat stare. “I would have been fixed if you hadn’t interfered.”

Sapphire’s smile grew strained, and she was smart enough to stop talking.

Ding.

The moment ended, and they stepped out onto the third floor hallway. By design, Wynn’s room was only a dozen feet away. Sapphire helped her to the door.

“I’ve got it from here,” Wynn murmured.

She shook off Sapphire and entered alone.

“I’ll be right here if you-”

Wynn shut the door in her face.

 

XXX

 

She always bathed quickly. Nudity was just another reminder of her illness. Her body was disgusting. Papery skin stretched taut over sharp hipbones. Quivering hands that lathered soap over etched ribs and mottled bruises.

Wynn couldn’t stop thinking about what the perfected Dust might have done for her. She’d never blended anything of that grade before. It had felt… right. She’d had a good feeling about it.

And that was rare.

She knew she was angry at her father. Irritated at Sapphire. Annoyed at the party.

She knew.

But she didn’t feel. Those emotions were small and murky, like images glimpsed at the bottom of a pond.

Thinking about it now… Wynn hesitated, hands laced through her hair.

When she’d blended the Dust, there had been a feeling. Pain, but also something good. She’d been genuinely excited for what it might mean. That she might be able to repair her crippled aura.

The raw emotion there was unbelievable in retrospect. How had she not noticed it? It was like all the mental gears that normally sat rusted and jammed had suddenly, briefly spun all at once.

But the feeling was already faded. She was remembering it, but not really feeling it.

Wynn sighed and shut off the shower.

She got her undergarments on without trouble, but the dress her father had picked for the party was beyond her to put on alone. She had to call Sapphire in to do up the buttons and tighten the laces.

And then to style her hair.

And then to do her makeup.

And then to-

Wynn finally collapsed into a chair. “No more!”

“Oh?” Sapphire was smirking at her. “Are you sure?”

The maid withdrew something from her apron.

“Your father had this sent up.”

Wynn sat up in her seat. “Finally.”

She’d half expected him to cut her off as punishment. But there really was no way she’d be able to handle the party without it.

She held out her arm to Sapphire. Sapphire tapped a vein, and then placed the injector gun against the crook of Wynn’s elbow.

Click.

Wynn gasped. Her daily injection was a mixture of aura supplements and highly diluted Dust. It was a pale imitation of what her blends were like, but it was still like swallowing the sun.

Her blood ran hot for the first time that day, and the sensitive skin on her hands quieted at once as the Dust augmented her Aura enough to heal her.

She stood without aid and stretched, flexing limbs suddenly strong enough to bear her weight.

The rime of ice at the center of her soul where her stunted emotions lay remained, but they were easier to ignore when she felt this good.

Two-parts adrenaline high, three-parts afterglow.

“After you, Miss Schnee,” Sapphire interjected.

And… Wynn sighed once more. She still felt well enough to fight a Beowolf barehanded, but Sapphire had truly killed the moment.

“To the party,” she grumbled.

===


End file.
